


Dancing in the Moonlight

by arthurandhisswordbros



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Blood, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Vampires, Werewolves, it's not "on screen" but mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthurandhisswordbros/pseuds/arthurandhisswordbros
Summary: It’s a big shock when Gwaine announces that his vampire birthday and his actual human date of birth are on the same day, and therefore, are going to be combined into one big party. And unfortunately, due to a number of rules, stipulations, and personal debts, Merlin is stuck with both planning and hosting it, which is just about the last thing he wants to do. Perhaps it would be worse if there weren’t such a cute guy hanging around the party. Perhaps it would be better if he weren’t human and Merlin didn’t have to hide the fact that he’s a vampire.Or, a modern vampire AU, where vampires are a still a secret and an introverted Merlin takes on way more than he can handle.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	1. The Inherent Sadness of a Singular Sandwich

**Author's Note:**

> I've been holding onto this fic for a while. I hope you like it!
> 
> Beta'd by the amazing, fantastic simthemuse (@ninjahijabimuse on tumblr)! She beta'd this on very short notice and gave incredible feedback. Thank you to @Linorien for the title and to Emma (@Barricadebroomstick on tumblr) for being the best cheerleader in existence!

It’s the 6th of December, 7:00pm, almost to the second.

Merlin knows this for a fact because for the past five minutes or so, he’s been staring down his glow in the dark wristwatch, steadily counting the seconds off like beats to a song.

_Click…click…click…click._

A very slow song, indeed.

Merlin sighs, letting his arm fall back down to his stomach. 

This is his routine, as mad as it is. It has been so for a while, now. And it works. Not just in the way that he’s safe, but in the way he _knows_ that he’s safe.

The sun is _always_ set by 7:00pm. It probably goes down earlier now, with daylight savings being over and all. But his routine is his routine and it’s been reliable so far, so he is quite inclined to stick to it.

Besides, it’s not like he’s one of those other, carefree vampires. The ones who wake up whenever, who only know the sun has set by peeking past the curtain, the ones who don’t care for the consequences.

Merlin _was_ once—one of those vampires. But, that was a long time ago. He’s not like that anymore. No, now, he _always_ cares for the consequences.

And yes, he does know that the sun won’t kill him, not unless he stands in it for too long. But it will definitely hurt. A lot. Especially now that he’s just woken up. 

Vampires are much more sensitive to the sun—to anything, really—after they’ve just woken up. Everybody knows that. Well, everybody that’s a vampire does. 

Merlin crawls out from under his bed, pulling his blanket out with him. He folds it neatly, and then tosses it on top of the bare mattress.

Coffins are really hard to come by these days. It’s not like you can just _take_ _one_ _home_ ; that would be suspicious. And suspicion often leads to discovery, which isn’t optimal for a supernatural creature in a world where they aren’t supposed to exist. 

Plus, coffins are cliché and really, who wants to be cliché? 

So, Merlin had to make do with the bed. He _is_ a modern vampire, after all.

It’s not so bad, really. If you put a foam cover and a few sheets underneath, it’s actually quite nice. And Merlin likes it. His bed is set up against a corner, so when he’s lying there, he’s surrounded by the walls at almost all angles. It makes him feel warm and safe, like a cat in a box.

And it also has the added benefit of looking like he sleeps there, should he have any human visitors, expected or unexpected, otherwise. But Merlin hasn’t had too much luck with that, anyways. So, the idea is fairly moot at this point.

Merlin stops himself, frowning. He can’t follow that train of thought too far; it never leads anywhere pleasant.

Instead, he decides to begin his stretches—lying under the bed for so long in one position can often make one’s body quite stiff—and once satisfied that he is the proper amount of limber for the day, he begins to pad his way to the restroom, sheepishly avoiding the window as he passes it.

Merlin stops in his tracks, left foot teetering along the door’s threshold.

It’s silly. The sun has definitely, probably, most likely gone down by now. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Right?

Merlin spares one more look towards the window, heavily covered with a series of blackout curtains. He weighs his options quickly.

Well, what harm would it do to give it another ten or twenty minutes?

It’s only when Merlin is finished getting ready—getting dressed, consuming a pint of O negative, brushing his teeth, considering buying a new toothbrush because it’s gone red now—that he decides to get up the nerve to pull back his curtains.

He initially flinches, but is met, as always, with almost pure darkness, save for the soft glow of moonlight directly overhead. Merlin takes a moment to bask in it.

It’s a waxing crescent, Merlin’s favorite phase. His mom always told him that he was born under a waxing crescent. 

It used to mean something, back in his day—something about the first sign of light after the new moon, something about the potential to grow into a full moon, bright and beautiful. 

“It’s a fresh start, if anything is, Merlin,” his mother would say, “It means hope; it means you’re going somewhere great.”

Merlin quickly pulls back the curtains, retreating back into darkness before the good memory can turn sour.

As he leaves his apartment, he thinks, briefly, that maybe he’s more scared of the moon than the sun.

He shakes his head. He has to get going.

He can’t be late for work…again.

\---

The bell above the door rings as Merlin steps into the searing brightness of the overly lit convenience store. He quickly hangs a hand over his eyes, flinching.

Merlin partially blames the pain on years of darkness and only using candles and torches for light, as well as a lack of evolution on the part of his species. But, he also blames whoever created fluorescents, because he’s _sure_ that they hated vampires; possibly humans, too. 

Once he’s properly adjusted, Merlin takes a moment to survey the store. It’s a dingy little thing on the side of what used to be a major highway. Now, the road has been mostly barren and unkempt ever since they built the overpass. It’s not great for business, but they still do get their fair share of customers—travelers from out of state, people who’d rather take back roads to their destinations, as well as truck drivers and the like. Vampires, too, because they know that Merlin owns the place and vampires are usually very good about supporting vampire-run businesses.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, again,” Merlin calls out sheepishly to the other side of the room. “If it weren’t for that herd of deer crossing the road, I would’ve been here five minutes ago."

“You own the place, Merlin, you can be as late as you want to be. You don’t have to blame the poor deer,” Mordred says from where he sits behind the cashier’s counter. He’s picking absently at his bowl of microwaved chili.

Merlin almost tuts. That’s definitely going to stain the Tupperware. 

“Anyways, it’s not like I have anywhere else to be right now,” Mordred says. 

“Now, Mordred, I thought you were always complaining about how _I_ was the one who didn’t have a life.” Merlin smiles, slowly making his way over to relieve Mordred, inspecting the aisles for trash, dirt piles, discarded items left in wrong places, and really anything out of order.

Mordred rolls his eyes. “Don’t use my words against me. They were meant specifically for you.”

“Uh huh,” Merlin says distractedly. Someone left an unwrapped, half-eaten powdered doughnut out by the canned goods, so now he has to clean that up. Great.

“Uh huh,” Mordred mimics, “because it was true— _is true—_ and also because it had a fun, double meaning.”

Merlin pauses briefly. “Why are all of your jokes about me vampire-based? I mean, what say you, dear Mordred? Hast thou body been drained of all creativity or hast thou none to begin with?”

“Can you stop talking to me like a Victorian scholar or whatever?” Mordred snaps, but he’s already at Merlin’s side with a box of wipes, ready to help. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

“Okay, one, that was old English, and two, perhaps I _was_ a Victorian scholar. You never know,” Merlin says as he de-powders a can of almost expired pees. He should probably sort through expiration dates tonight. Or, he can make Mordred do it when he gets back from his “vacation.”

“I _do_ know, for a fact, because _you_ told me that you all but lived under a _rock_ during that era,” Mordred says, a shit eating grin on his face.

Yeah, Merlin will probably make him do it. And more. So much more.

“You can be a scholar and still live under a rock, Mordred,” Merlin says, “It was a very acceptable living situation back then. My friend Charles Dickens lived under a rock for many years, in fact. And he wrote…many great works.”

It’s only a few minutes later, once Merlin has finished cleaning and is stepping back to appraise his work, that he realizes Mordred hasn’t responded. Merlin shifts his gaze to him, almost afraid that something is wrong. Mordred is _never_ silent. 

What he’s met with, though, is the sight of Mordred, whose eyes are somehow both squinted _and_ pointed at Merlin in accusation at the same time. “You’re just always a little bit full of shit, aren’t you?”

Were Merlin not a vampire who upheld the virtue of a strict, honorable countenance at all times, he would have probably fallen to the floor in a fit of laughter.

So, instead, he decides to just laugh directly in Mordred’s face. “You believed me for a second, didn’t you?” Merlin asks, trying to catch his breath.

Mordred turns away in embarrassment. Or, in what Merlin hopes to be embarrassment. “Nope,” he says faux-nonchalantly. He flips back around, face made blank, presumably in an attempt to make his indifference seem more convincing.

“But you _are_. And therefore, thine point remains, my dear lord Mordred. Lordred,” Merlin says, grinning widely at Mordred’s disgusted face, “You shouldn’t make so many vampire jokes. I don’t make werewolf jokes about you.”

“No, you make _bad_ werewolf jokes about me,” Mordred says. “And _my_ point remains that you don’t have a life, literally or figuratively. Hence the heavy duty deflecting you’re doing.”

“What? No, I haven’t been—”

“When was the last time you went out?”

Merlin perks up.

“Not for work,” Mordred interrupts.

Merlin sulks back down.

Mordred suddenly looks bright, like he thinks he has the upper hand. “And when is the next time you’re _planning_ to go out.”

Merlin perks up again.

“ _Not for work_ ,” Mordred reiterates.

Merlin’s face sours. Fine, maybe he _does._

“You know what, get out. It’s my shift anyway,” Merlin says bluntly.

This time, it’s Mordred’s turn to laugh in Merlin’s face. “See, point made. I can have it embroidered if you need me to. Needle point made.”

Merlin rubs a hand across his face. “Get out, please.”

Mordred doesn’t seem to need another word because already he’s packing up and leaving with a sudden burst of energy, all but prancing as he does. 

“And I don’t want to see neither hide nor hair of you until after the full moon,” Merlin calls after him. Mordred flips him off just before the door closes behind him. 

No wonder their respective species are supposed to hate each other.

As Merlin ponders the merits of slipping a small amount of wolfsbane—not enough to kill, but enough to harm—into Mordred’s cup noodles, he suddenly remembers that he _does_ have somewhere to go this week.

The Tri-State Area, Bi-Monthly Vampire Council Meeting.

Merlin doesn’t usually go--hasn’t gone in years--but Gwaine said that he has a very important announcement to make. So, he’s making Merlin go against his will.

Merlin’s not going to tell Mordred that, though.

Merlin all but scrambles for the door, stepping out into the cold air. “For your information, Mordred, I do have a life _and_ somewhere to go this week. So, embroider that!” Merlin shouts out into the night, hoping that Mordred hears him over the revving engine of his motorcycle.

Mordred takes off quickly, but Merlin thinks he can see a smile on his face as he goes. Merlin flips him off for good measure.

“I quite like embroidery myself,” a voice suddenly shoots out from Merlin’s right. “I don’t really know how to do it, but I do have a deep appreciation for it.”

Merlin’s head swivels to meet the voice’s source.

And it’s possibly one of the most beautiful men—human, Merlin faintly registers—he has ever seen in all of his years. He’s tall, blonde, handsome, and well built—far too well-built for anyone around here. Most of the local humans are old cops who have been relegated to pulling people over on the road nearby and let’s just _delicately_ say that they are not-so-in-their-primes anymore.

Merlin gives the man a once-over…and he’s wearing socks and sandals. By law—fashion law that is, but law nonetheless—he should be an automatic four on the scale of hotness. But no, he’s a ten.

Merlin pauses.

Imagine how hot he’d be with normal shoes on.

The man coughs pointedly, and Merlin realizes all too suddenly that he’s been silently gawking at this absolute stranger for about a minute now. He looks down to his toes, embarrassed. Why does he always do this to himself? “Um, okay,” he answers awkwardly, not entirely sure what to say.

And fuck, he doesn’t know what to do, either. So instead, he options to awkwardly walk back into the store. In retreat. Like a _coward_. 

He’s halfway across the main aisle, towards the cashier’s counter, when, to his utter mortification, the bell above the door rings behind him.

Of course! Merlin is such an idiot. Of course, the man would _also_ want to come in. He’s here for a _reason_ after all. Merlin figures that he’s dug himself this far and he might as well keep shoveling, so he just keeps walking to the counter, sits down, and waits for the man to finish browsing.

Instead of dwelling on how much of a loser he is, Merlin decides to busy himself with counting out Mordred’s drawer. He mentally curses himself for not doing it while Mordred was still _here_ , but he guesses that he’ll just have to add it to the pile of regrets he’s already amassed today.

As soon as he’s done, the man approaches the counter, carefully dropping off a horrendous number of items onto it—enough that Merlin knows that he’ll be scanning for a while. Merlin quickly gets to work, focusing on the task at hand instead of on the man before him.

“Listen,” the man says, “I was…being sarcastic…out there.”

Merlin pauses, looking up. Nevermind, then. 

“I don’t like embroidery, obviously.” The man continues, averting his eyes. 

And wow, it seems that this man thinks that he, _himself_ , should be the one embarrassed about this situation and not Merlin—you know, the one who _bolted_ as soon as it got uncomfortable.

It’s…strange. But, also, kind of endearing.

The man huffs frustratedly and suddenly all signs of uneasiness seem to fade away through pure stubbornness, alone. 

Merlin spares another look, not quite sure what to make of him. “Uh…it’s okay to like embroidery. I won’t hold it against you, personally.” Merlin offers the man a small smile and gets an equally small one in response. 

“So, you’re working the night shift?” the man asks.

“Yeah. You may have just seen my _employee_ ,” Merlin says, punctuating the word as though it were a curse, “riding off just now.” 

“You mean the one you flipped off?” the man asks amusedly.

Merlin chuckles. “Yeah, well I own the place…” He leaves the sentence hanging off, questioning.

“Arthur,” the man—Arthur answers easily, “So, you can verbally abuse your employees without consequence. Interesting…” 

“Merlin,” Merlin answers. He can’t help but laugh again, shocked at the man’s bluntness.

“Very interesting, _Merlin_ ,” the man says, smiling.

Merlin can’t help but falter at the sight of it. 

And it seems his pause implicates him because Arthur’s smile has gone from sarcastic and amused to triumphant and celebratory. That’s quite the turnaround in terms of expressions, Merlin will have to say.

Also, just for posterity, damn both Merlin and his _weakness_ for beautiful men. And Arthur truly is beautiful, even under fluorescent lighting.

“We have a very specific type of relationship,” Merlin backtracks.

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Friendly! A friendly relationship!” Merlin rushes to clarify. “One in which we can rib on each other like that and no H.R. forms have to be filed.”

Arthur puts on a doubtful look.

“No, really, it’s all above board!” Merlin assures.

“I believe you, Merlin,” Arthur says, face breaking back out into something lighter. 

“Good, I’m extremely believable,” Merlin says, smiling. He belatedly realizes that in the midst of their conversation, he’s stopped mid-scan. He quickly gets back to work.

“So, you said that you own the place, right?” Arthur asks. 

“Yep,” Merlin says, scanning a carton of almond milk. “For a few years, now.”

“So, why _are_ you working the night shift? Are you covering for someone?”

“Nope. I just…like it, I guess,” Merlin answers. And honestly, it’s not a lie. Merlin hates to admit when Mordred is right, but he _does_ have a point about Merlin’s lack of socialization. The store offers him a reason to get out of the apartment and socialize with people in a more controlled environment. 

“Really?” Arthur answers, surprised. “Interesting.”

“You find a lot of things interesting, don’t you?”

“Only a few,” Arthur says, looking at Merlin.

Merlin lowers his head, focusing on bagging the items before him. If he could blush, he would. It’s kind of cheesy, but Merlin likes cheesy.

“And no,” Arthur continues easily, “I was only asking because I just got this new job, so I have to work a lot of night shifts, right now.”

“Have to pay your dues, I get it,” Merlin says. “Is that why you’re getting groceries this late? Because of the change?”

Arthur nods. “I’ve been building up to it. It’s definitely no fun switching sleep schedules so suddenly. But, I probably don’t have to tell you that.” He gestures to Merlin.

“Yep,” Merlin says, popping the “p.” Although, the last time Merlin “switched sleep schedules” was a very long time ago.

“When do you start?” Merlin asks.

“Next week, but I’ve already settled in nearby. Well,” Arthur gestures to the fully bagged items on the counter, “except for buying the essentials.”

“Oh, you didn’t come here for _me_?” Merlin feigns offense. Arthur hands him his card and Merlin swipes it.

“Not this time,” Arthur says.

And there he goes again, saying blush-worthy things. Merlin hands Arthur his card back, which he then pockets.

“Do you need any help with that?” Merlin asks, eyeing the bags. He would be lying if he said that he offered to help every customer like this.

“No, I think I got it,” Arthur says. “But here..” He rummages through one of the bags, pulls out a small, pre-packaged turkey and cheese sandwich and hands it to Merlin. “I bought you this, just in case you didn’t have dinner or anything, yet.”

Merlin doesn’t take it at first, a little shocked by the gesture, but eventually goes to grab it. Their fingers brush and Merlin is suddenly very worried about his cold hands. Although, if Arthur notices anything, he doesn’t mention it.

“Thank you,” Merlin says, carefully setting the sandwich down on the counter as though it were a precious child.

“Don’t worry about it,” Arthur says. He holds Merlin’s gaze briefly, then lowers his head. “I’ll see you around.”

Arthur lifts the numerous bags easily, distributing them to each arm equally to make up a good bag-to-arm ratio. It’s...impressive. 

He’s almost out the door before Merlin can think of anything to say. “Uh, I ho-hope so,” Merlin stutters.

Arthur gives him another brilliant smile and makes his way out. As soon as he’s gone, Merlin curls in on himself, head resting on the cold counter beneath him, hands in his hair.

“Why, Merlin?” he mumbles to himself. It’s a question that he finds himself asking far too often these days. “Why would you say that?”

Merlin lifts his head to stare absently at the sandwich across the counter.

It would be great if he could actually eat it. He should probably just throw it out, right?

Merlin decides to hold onto it until the end of his shift.

\---

Merlin slogs through his regular routine, still attempting to live down his embarrassment from his interaction with Arthur just a few days ago. Thankfully, the man hasn’t come in since, neither during Merlin’s shifts nor during the daytime. And no, Merlin _wasn’t_ proud of asking around about it. Nor was he subtle, which afforded him a sympathetic smile and a pat on the back from Lancelot, his other daytime worker, local human and all-around nice guy.

“You can’t sweat the small stuff. You’ve lived too long for that,” Lancelot says kindly.

“Why does _every_ joke have to be about my vampirism?” Merlin asks, question mostly aimed at the universe for treating him so poorly. He doesn’t get an immediate response—neither from Lancelot nor the universe—so he decides to just focus on counting Lancelot’s register out.

“I’m not joking, Merlin,” Lancelot finally says, “For humans like me, we have to worry about the details because otherwise there would be nothing else to do. Also, we are very easily harmed.”

Merlin nods. They truly are. 

“But you,” Lancelot continues, “you have all the time in the world to do pretty much whatever you want. Don’t worry about it.”

Merlin levels him with a look. “But he’s hot, Lance.”

Lancelot thinks about this for a second, scratching his scruffy beard for good measure. “Well you might as well worry about it then,” Lancelot says seriously, then waits a few beats before letting a smile break out across his face.

Merlin grumbles to himself and slams the cash register drawer. He doesn’t comment, though, because Lancelot is right—he’s always right. Damn him. Merlin _doesn’t_ have a life and worrying like this, admittedly, hasn’t gotten him very far.

“Hey, are you going to the council meeting tonight?” Lancelot asks, “I heard that Gwaine has some sort of big announcement about his vampire birthday party.”

“So _that’s_ what it’s about? Wow, a year already! Time goes by fast, huh?” Merlin says uneasily, tensing up just a fraction. He doesn’t much like to think of the night Gwaine became a vampire.

If Lancelot picks up on Merlin’s tone, he doesn’t say anything about it. “I know. A year ago, I didn’t even know about you folk. Now you’re a real _pain in my neck_ ,” Lancelot says, looking at Merlin expectantly.

Merlin doesn’t even give him the dignity of a look in his direction, let alone a response. He just walks away, readying the store to be closed.

After about five minutes of silence, Merlin finally answers, “Yes, I’m going to the council meeting.” Even though he _really_ doesn’t want to.

Lancelot’s face brightens, “Awesome, we should carpool.”

“You’re coming, too?” Merlin asks. He’s fairly satisfied with the relatively clean store, so without any prompting, he heads for the exit.

“I’m already a plus one. Maybe I can be your plus one, too. A plus two,” Lancelot says, following Merlin out. “Also, I wouldn’t miss Gwaine’s announcement for the world. He’s built it up _way_ too much.”

Merlin watches as the neon “open” sign flickers out along with the rest of the store’s lights. Holding the keys to the place in his hand, Merlin is met with the sudden realization that what he’s about to do is a blatant break in routine, and perhaps by extension, a break in safety; his own self-assured safety.

Merlin heaves a shuttered sigh, not really caring if Lancelot hears. “I sure hope it’s worth it.”

Lancelot chuckles at that, then claps Merlin on the shoulder, “It’s Gwaine.”

“Fair enough.” Merlin offers him a small smile and locks up.

\---

They step into the relatively small, local community center and Merlin immediately has to brace himself. He isn’t quite sure what he was expecting, but there are some fifty-odd people here—mostly vampires, but also a few humans, as well. Definitely more than there were in the eighties, which is approximately the last time Merlin attended one of these things.

They all straggle about in the main lobby, clustered and compacted together like sardines. It’s making Merlin feel…uncomfortable.

He’s just not used to so many people. He lives alone, only needing to go out for necessities and to cover the night shift at the store, in which he rarely sees more than three customers at a time.

This, though…well, this is a bit too much.

Suddenly, Merlin feels a hand on his shoulder, which initially makes him jump, but in seeing that it belongs to Lancelot, he calms down a bit. 

“Are you okay?” Lancelot asks.

“Yeah,” Merlin breathes out, turning to offer what he hopes to be a sheepish smile, “Just feeling a bit overstimulated.”

And he is. It’s stupid, really. His heart doesn’t even beat anymore, so why does he feel like its jackhammering in his chest? Why do his nerves feel all frayed? And why does it feel difficult to breathe?

Is it too late to leave?

“Okay, well don’t worry,” Lancelot calms, “They’re just making sure the main room is ready. It won’t be so stuffy in there.” He points ahead to a large, open doorway with velvet ropes tightly lining it’s cavity. On a nearby wall, a placard reads, “Main Auditorium.” Well, that can’t be too bad, right?

Merlin feels himself calm a bit, phantom heartbeat slowing down and breath coming to him easily, again. He offers Lancelot an appreciative smile and receives a squeeze on the shoulder in return.

And before Merlin knows it, the room starts to empty. He watches people filter out, one by one, through the doorway, seemingly like clowns in a car. 

“We’ll wait until they’ve all gone in, then we’ll hang out in the back of the auditorium, okay? They have a snack table for the humans there.” Lancelot says kindly.

“Yeah?” Merlin asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah, they have a pretty good set up—they have scones!” Lancelot says. At Merlin’s unimpressed face, he continues, “Listen, I don’t know what scones were like when _you_ were human, but they make them really good these days.”

“Whatever you say.”

Lancelot huffs in either amusement or annoyance—Merlin isn’t quite sure. “Either way, we should get going.” 

Lancelot’s free hand grasps Merlin’s other shoulder and suddenly, he’s being slowly guided, or more like, _pushed_ into the direction of the auditorium. Merlin has no idea why he feels the need to dig his feet into the ground and resist even more.

“How do you know so much about these meetings, anyways?” Merlin asks. “Do you come here often?”

“Well,” Lancelot says, “when one pledges their heart to an eternal beast of the night—"

“Beast-ess,” Gwen corrects, voice abruptly ringing in from Merlin’s other side, making him jump. A brief look to the left and Merlin suddenly realizes that that other hand on his shoulder belongs to Gwen, not Lancelot. 

Seriously, how long has she been next to them?

“Beast-ess, right,” Lancelot continues, and Merlin just knows that he’s making googly eyes at Gwen behind Merlin’s back. “Well, when you commit yourself like that, you have to commit all the way. That includes going to your partner’s local community functions.”

“That’s right. Lancelot attends these meetings with me, and I attend his badminton league practices,” Gwen explains.

“At night?” Merlin asks, incredulously.

“Well, Merlin, badminton isn’t just a daytime sport. It’s meant to be enjoyed at all times. And practicing it in the dark makes it much more difficult to play; more challenging,” Lancelot says. “If we played in the daytime, though, we could definitely go pro.”

Lancelot’s unremitting chatter about badminton distracts Merlin enough so that he doesn’t immediately realize when they’ve already stepped all the way into the auditorium. When he does, Gwen and Lancelot share a triumphant look—a little _too_ triumphant—and Merlin has a feeling that their collusion started at a much earlier stage this evening. No _wonder_ Lancelot was so keen to carpool with him.

The microphone shrieks from the small podium across the room—a sound check, presumedly. Merlin has to ignore the impulse to cover his ears. Instead, he shoots a worried look towards Gwen and Lancelot. “So, what do I have to expect from this…whole thing?” Merlin asks.

“It’s mostly a hogwash, really,” Gwen says plainly. “People usually just come for the connections and conversation. Aside from announcements, no one really goes up. Well, except for Brenda, who gets up _every_ _time_ to talk about her cats.”

“Really? Her cats?” Merlin asks.

“Yeah, she’s got like eight of them. It works out pretty well for her, actually, because cats are usually nocturnal and all.”

“And I heard that Mitten-Whiskers is on the mend,” Lancelot says, suddenly holding a plate full of scones. When did he get those?

“Oh, fantastic!” Gwen responds enthusiastically. “I was worried about him.”

“What happened to Mitten-Whiskers?” Merlin whispers, more serious than he would like to be. 

Gwen smiles and Merlin would be lying if he didn’t say that it looked a tiny bit devious.

Fuck. They’ve got him, haven’t they?

He’s invested now.

\---

“Thank you,” Brenda says, bookending a very long, albeit interesting speech on the importance of proper eyecare in pets. She steps down to a dignified round of applause and Merlin suddenly feels like he’s accidentally attended some sort of vampire TED talk.

It’s actually pretty great and were Merlin not already standing, he just may have tried to start a standing ovation.

Through all the excitement, Merlin can easily make out Gwaine hanging by the sidelines, ready to pounce as soon as Brenda is clear of the stage. He obviously wants to catch the crowd while they’re still energetic.

“Wow, so glad to hear that Mitten-Whisker’s conjunctivitis is clearing up,” Gwaine says, voice breathy from running up onto the podium.

That cues another round of applause. Gwaine smiles wildly and Merlin just _knows_ that he’s going to make a big stink. That’s Gwaine’s big stink smile.

“As you may know, I have a _very_ special day coming up: my very first vampire birthday!” Gwaine pauses for a chorus of applause, whistles and hoots.

You see, a vampire’s birthday—or exactly one year from when they were first turned—is a very important tradition in westernized vampire culture. Back in the day, an intricate ceremony would be performed, complete with blood rituals, sacrifices, general debauchery, and lots and lots of Maroon Five music—they were one of the most prominent all-vampire bands to make it into mainstream media.

Now, it’s pretty much just your standard rager. Think of it like a coming of age ceremony/rave, but with only one blood ritual, no sacrifices, and very light debauchery. They do still go pretty hard on Maroon Five, though.

“Okay, okay, calm down you guys! It’s not that big of a deal!” Gwaine says modestly. He’s lying, though; it _is_ that big of a deal. A vampire’s birthday party is a one-time thing, so it’s pretty important. Plus, they don’t usually come around too often, especially in a small town like this.

But when they _do_ come around, they kick absolute ass.

“Anyways, the party is at my house next Thursday night and I hope to see you all there!” Gwaine says. He gets another round of applause and Merlin thinks that it might be over—that there isn’t going to be some catch.

Gwaine always loves to prove him wrong, though, doesn’t he?

“Although,” Gwaine continues, “my vampire birthday _does_ seem to fall on the same day as my actual, _human_ day of birth.”

The room suddenly goes quiet, most people sensing where this is going.

“And, you see, my _human_ family is still alive and we’re really close, so I’ve decided to combine the parties,” Gwaine says brightly, as though he has no idea how big of a bomb he just dropped.

And the room practically combusts. People are suddenly out of their chairs, completely outraged. Some people are throwing around questions like:

_“What about the blood ritual?”_

_“How am I supposed to make small talk with humans? I haven’t spoken to a human in forty-five years.”_

_“What kind of idiot would turn someone on their actual birthday?”_

Some people are snarling and hissing, while others are stock still, almost catatonic. And Merlin would like to think that they’re overreacting, but they’re not. This has, in all the centuries that Merlin has been alive, _never_ happened.

Well, sure, people have been turned on their birthdays before, but no one has been crazy enough to combine _human_ and _vampire_ parties together! It’s a complete break from tradition. 

Gwaine, the bastard, is outwardly smiling now, happily absorbing all of the negative emotions being hurled at him and no doubtedly turning it into fuel. For what, though?

“And, also, as per vampire law, I retain the right to call on the vampire who turned me, my sire, to plan this party,” he says happily.

The room goes quiet again and an undercurrent of dread cuts through Merlin’s abdomen.

“So, everyone _please_ give a big round of applause for Merlin!” Gwaine says, cheerful clapping echoing throughout the silent room. Heads swivel every which way to try to spot Merlin, who hides behind Lancelot.

And…this is probably Merlin’s biggest nightmare coming to fruition.

“I’m sure he’ll do a great job!” Gwaine says.

The room goes crazy once again, people jumping up out of their seats, ready to raise hell.

“Also, I will not be taking any questions at this time and neither will Merlin. Thank you and I hope to see you there,” Gwaine rushes out quickly. He then hops down from the podium, rushes down the stairs, and makes a beeline for Merlin, who is already walking out of the room.

“How do you think that went?” Gwaine asks, catching up with Merlin. It’s a serious question and Merlin cannot believe it.

“How do _you_ think that went?” Merlin whispers harshly. They’re being stared at as they go by, which obviously makes it feel like it’s just _Merlin_ who’s being stared at. “I’m not going to plan your stupid party!”

“But you _have to_!”

“Why do I _have to?”_

“Because, one, I’m busy with work. Two, it’s vampire law, you know that. And three, I already made the announcement,” Gwaine whines. “C’mon, Merlin, it’s your duty to me, or whatever. You owe it to me.”

Merlin stops short. That’s a low blow. 

Merlin levels Gwaine with a blistering glare. “This was a shitty thing to do, Gwaine. And a supremely shitty way to do it.” His tone leaves no room for argument and he leaves a shocked Gwaine behind, walking out alone.

The worst part of all of this is that Gwaine is right; as the vampire who turned him, it’s Merlin’s duty to throw this party. It’s vampire law. 

And, well, Merlin really _does_ owe it to him.

Once Merlin reaches his car, he lifts his head to the sky, searching for something that doesn’t need to be searched for. 

The moon is large, full, and bright. Only, right now, Merlin can’t bring himself to find the beauty in it, can’t bring himself to bask in it like any other night. 

So, he slumps forward, gets in his car, and leaves. 


	2. Chips are Really Great, When They’re Not Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the amazing, fantastic simthemuse (@ninjahijabimuse on tumblr)! Also thank you to Emma (@Barricadebroomstick on tumblr) for the cheerleading when I needed it most!

“So, he just called you out like that, in front of everyone?” Mordred asks from where he sits next to Merlin at the cashier’s counter. It’s Merlin’s shift right now—he counted Mordred out about a half an hour ago—but it seems that news of what happened at the council meeting spread all the way to the werewolves, so in lieu of doing…whatever Mordred does with his free time, he pulled up a chair from the back room and decided to lend a listening ear.

Of course, this came with the pretense that Mordred was more interested in the drama than Merlin’s feelings on the matter, but Merlin knows better.

“Yep,” Merlin answers, simply. “And now I’m stuck throwing a party for someone who just publicly humiliated me.”

“Fuck that,” Mordred says, picking at his microwaved mac and cheese. “Did he apologize?”

“No, but he will. In his ‘Gwaine’ way,” Merlin grumbles.

“Whatever _that_ means,” Mordred says. “Are you going to forgive him?”

Merlin pauses, just to give the impression that he has more dignity than he has. “Maybe.”

Mordred laughs because what’s _really_ going to happen is obvious—or, rather, what’s already happened is obvious. Merlin is already on the track to forgiving Gwaine. A markedly long tract, which he’s travelling through slowly, but he’s moving, nonetheless.

Merlin has always had trouble holding grudges, especially against people who he owes.

“I owe him,” Merlin says, echoing his own thoughts. Mordred nods.

Nothing else really has to be said on the matter and if it did, Mordred wouldn’t say it. He knows that _something_ happened when Gwaine was turned—something terrible—but he doesn’t know the details. And he knows that there’s a reason Merlin _has_ to do this.

“And, I mean, he means well. He’s just an asshole about it, sometimes,” Merlin says.

“An asshole, indeed,” Mordred says bluntly, then stands up to not-so-sneakily swipe a granola bar from the basket sitting on the counter. He finished his mac and cheese almost as soon as he opened it, capping the Tupperware and stuffing it in his already-too-clunky backpack. Now, it seems he’s moved onto his next course.

“You’re paying for that,” Merlin says, desperately hoping that Mordred isn’t stockpiling food containers in his bag and therefore, never washing them.

“It’s expired,” Mordred says, as though it puts him in the right.

Merlin doesn’t argue with his bad food decisions—werewolves have such good metabolism and healing capabilities that Mordred could probably eat rubber and still end up with a six-pack.

“Speaking of, if you’re gonna hang around here, you might as well clock back in and catalog all of the almost-expired items, like I told you to—”

Mordred is already out of the door before Merlin can finish his sentence.

Merlin sighs. “Figures.” He looks at the clock.

_8:45pm._

He has a little over six hours left until the end of his shift. Merlin scans the store over briefly. No one’s here and no one has come in since he’s gotten here. It’s probably going to be dead for the rest of the night. So, he might as well do it, himself.

Merlin pushes himself up from the counter, grabbing a notebook from the back, and begins checking expiration dates. He’s halfway through the first aisle when the bell above the front door rings.

“Just yell when you want me to ring you up,” Merlin calls out freely, trying to keep his focus on the task at hand. Everything in this aisle will expire within the next few weeks, so he can probably get away with rotating them to the front and marking them down and hoping they’re out before then. But as for the dairy aisle…

“What are you doing?” a voice suddenly rings in from Merlin’s right, making him jump.

And it’s the hot guy—Arthur.

“Oh…uh...I’m trying to figure out what to do with the expiring items in the store,” Merlin says shakily, holding up a bag of chips for reference. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m watching you try to figure out what to do with the expiring items in the store,” Arthur answers with a smile. An amazing one, at that—as though all of them aren’t amazing. “So, are they dying this minute?”

“Huh?” Merlin asks.

“You said that they were expiring. Is it almost their time? Should I make funeral preparations?”

Merlin laughs. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to break it to their family members first. Only, they’re not long for this earth, either,” he says, lifting another expiring pack.

“How sad.”

“I know,” Merlin says, sadly, “I think we may need a moment of silence for them.”

“Of course not, Merlin. They’re only a bag of chips.” Arthur says, face suddenly serious.

It takes Merlin half a second to recover from the emotional whiplash, but once he does, he can’t help but break out into a small fit of laughter. Arthur joins him, face lighting up as soon as Merlin’s does, as though he couldn’t help but smile when Merlin did.

“So, do you need help finding anything?” Merlin says.

“No,” Arthur says, meaningfully.

Merlin looks down this time, in embarrassment. “You’re so cheesy,” he says.

“I know,” Arthur says, and he’s looking down, too, but another smile is painting his face. Merlin’s not entirely sure it’s not the same as the first—that it never went away.

Merlin coughs awkwardly, not wanting to get ahead of himself with the avenue that thought process wants to lead him down. “Well, we should ring you up, then, huh?”

Arthur clears his throat, bright smile lessening to a grin. “Of course, lead the way,” he says, gesturing to the cashier’s counter, as though he doesn’t know where it is.

Merlin eyes him strangely but decides to just go with it. He shelves the two bags of chips and follows suit. Once he’s seated behind the counter, though, Arthur places two bags of chips in front of him, which are obviously the ones he just put away.

“I was already here to buy chips, anyways,” Arthur says, shrugging at Merlin’s questioning glance.

Merlin chuckles lightly. “Well, you better eat them within the next week or so. You know, before they pass away.” He looks up and Arthur is staring at him. “Will that be all?”

Arthur shakes himself. “Oh yeah, that’s all.”

“Did you just come here for a few packets of expiring chips?”

Arthur looks like he wants to say something cheesy, again, but must think better of it. “Yes, specifically. I only eat them if they’re expiring.”

“That’s a weird fetish to have,” Merlin says, automatically, before he can stop himself.

At first Arthur looks confused, just like Merlin a few moments ago, but then his face breaks and suddenly they’re in a fit of giggles, like children. They settle down slowly and before Merlin knows it, he’s just staring at Arthur. And Arthur is staring back.

It’s…weird, but kind of nice. It’s been a long time since he’s just shared a look with someone. And it’s been an even longer time since he found someone who was worth sharing a look like this with.

And here’s Arthur with his big, gorgeous, blue eyes and his crooked little smile that lights up his whole face with a pulse of light, like magic. And Merlin melts.

Suddenly, Merlin realizes just how quiet it is, how…intimate. And he panics.

“Um…” Merlin intones. He coughs, looking away. “Um…that’ll be $7.50…”

He literally cringes from how awkward that was, his neck veins protruding. He dares to look back up at Arthur, who’s just smiling kindly.

“Of course,” Arthur says, as though Merlin isn’t the most insufferable creature on the planet.

They were having a _moment,_ damnit, and Merlin ruined it.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Arthur says, reading Merlin’s mind and Merlin panics all over again. Then Arthur puts on an easy smile. “The price isn’t _that_ steep. It is a little expensive for a few bags of chips, though.” Arthur offers Merlin his card. “I’ve got big chip money, though, so I’ll be okay.”

Merlin suddenly relaxes, feeling like a small weight has been lifted off of him. He then takes the card and they finish their transaction and Arthur heads towards the door, but he leaves one of the chip bags behind.

“Hey, don’t forget this!” Merlin calls out.

“They’re for you!” Arthur calls back.

“But—”

“Bye!” Arthur rushes out the door before Merlin can argue further.

Merlin looks at the chip bag dumbly.

It’s touching, for sure. It’s just, Merlin wishes Arthur would stop getting him food he can’t eat. At least he can hold onto this one for longer before having to throw it out—he can wait precisely two weeks.

\---

Merlin gives it another day until he decides to actually start doing something about this whole party thing. He knows that putting it off doesn’t really do him any good—he _does_ have to plan it in a relatively short time span, after all. It’s just, he really doesn’t want to do it and he _really_ doesn’t want to forgive Gwaine as easily as he does.

But he has to.

So, after a few hours of building himself up to it, he reluctantly sends off a quick, non-committal text asking Gwaine for a list of contacts. That doesn’t stop him from throwing his phone against the wall, like it’s a bomb about to go off, though.

And not ten minutes later, there’s a fierce knocking at his door, which, sadly, isn’t very surprising.

“Who is it?” Merlin asks, just to be annoying. He walks towards the door.

“Oh, you know. It’s no one. I probably don’t even have the right address,” Gwaine says loudly and sarcastically.

“Then you should be on your way, I guess. Far, far, away from here.” Merlin walks back towards his bedroom, making his steps heavy so as to be heard.

Then, the door unlocks and now Merlin is actually, genuinely surprised. Gwaine stands down the hall, chest puffed, like a cowboy who just kicked open the swinging doors to a particularly dingy saloon.

“How do you have a key to my apartment?” Merlin asks, incredulously.

“That doesn’t matter,” Gwaine says and although he’s already opened the door, he refrains from stepping in.

Merlin makes his way back to the doorway hesitantly. “I think it does.”

“Well that’s your opinion—“

“Why are you here, Gwaine?” Merlin interrupts, trying to get to the point quicker.

“You texted me,” Gwaine says. “C’mon, you can’t blame me for being a good correspondent.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Merlin says, overly sarcastic. “But, what stopped you from, I don’t know, just, texting me back?”

Gwaine gasps. “That would just be rude!”

“Which you _never_ are—"

“Forgive me for still believing in strict, person-to-person communication.”

“What are you _really_ doing here, Gwaine?” Merlin snaps, beginning to grow tired of the back and forth. He puts a hand on the door, ready to close it whenever necessary.

Gwaine catches this, then falters, proud shoulders lowering. He looks to the ground, face cast in shame. “I was thinking…”

“An odd practice for you…”

Gwaine’s nose scrunches and he looks like he wants to send a retort back but thinks better of it. “I was thinking…about that stunt I pulled the other day. There probably could’ve been another way to ask you to throw my party.”

“You didn’t ask me, Gwaine. You trapped me.”

“I know,” Gwaine says, still looking down. He reminds Merlin of a small child who’s been reprimanded for something like stealing cookies or drawing on the walls. He looks up at Merlin with big, puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And it’s enough. Somehow, awfully, it’s enough.

It’s enough for Merlin to lower his hand on the door, to turn around and take a right into his kitchen with the implication that it’s okay for Gwaine to follow.

Gwaine waits a few moments, then hesitantly breaches the apartment, closing the door behind him extra carefully as he does. Then he races after Merlin.

“Okay, so first, is my Aunt Silvia,” Gwaine starts. “She’s a real party animal and a not-so-recovering alcoholic, so you’re going to have to keep her away from any of the blood-drinks because if it has alcohol in it, _she will drink it_. And I’m pretty sure that’s not good for humans.” He steps into the kitchen, passing Merlin from where he’s taken a seat at his small table, opting instead to rummage through Merlin’s cabinets, like he always does.

Merlin watches him, amusedly. “No, probably not.”

“Right? And then, because she will get drunk by any means necessary, she _will start a fight_ . Which, as you know, isn’t a great thing to do at a party with _vampires_.” Gwaine stops in his tracks, turning to Merlin. “What’re you doing?”

“What?” Merlin asks defensively.

“Well, obviously, you should be taking notes! C’mon, where’s your phone?”

Merlin looks down evasively. “Oh, well, about that…”

“You didn’t throw it across the room, did you?”

“It’s fine,” Merlin says. “It’s durable.”

Gwaine pauses. “Please, for fucks sake, tell me you still don’t have that shitty Nokia 3310 anymore,” he says.

Merlin looks back up. “Well, one could argue the definition of “shitty…”

Gwaine’s face must cycle through the five stages of grief and Merlin does not anticipate what is surely in store for him next.

Which is to say, that this is how Gwaine successfully shames Merlin into going to the library.

\---

Merlin and Gwaine pull into the library’s parking lot and settle somewhere relatively close to the building. As the car comes to a stop, Merlin freezes. Caught up in the semi-chaotic nature that is spending time with Gwaine, Merlin suddenly forgot that he was going out in public, going somewhere unfamiliar with, presumably, unfamiliar people.

The building, itself, is not inherently intimidating, nor is it particularly unfamiliar. It looks just like every under-funded library in the country—with its tones of beige and brown, its gritty rough texture, and its general air of “this was built in the eighties”—and Merlin _has_ been here before. How could he not?

The Gaius Phillips and Joffrey Stanley Memorial Library is, perhaps, the only one of its kind which runs exclusively on nighttime and evening hours. Dedicated to two tragic scholars who devoted their lives to making knowledge accessible to people from every walk of life, the facility acts as a veritable hub for individuals who aren’t able to make use of traditional library hours, such as people taking online courses, people who work during the day, take care of kids, and vampires.

And Merlin was there for the grand opening.

Gwaine turns off the engine, then waits for a minute, watching for what Merlin does.

Merlin doesn’t look at him, takes what he hopes to be a calming breath—but comes out shuttered in a puff of cold smoke—and reaches for the door. He thinks he can see a smile in his peripheral as they both exit the vehicle and make their way to the main entrance.

“By the way, you should really restock your blood supply more often. There’s no way most of that stuff is good, anymore,” Gwaine says, trying to be distracting.

“Please, do tell me the shelf life of blood, Gwaine,” Merlin says, playing along. He could use the distraction.

“All I’m saying is that it looks disgusting,” Gwaine argues.

“It’s fine,” Merlin sighs.

“It’s partially congealed!” Gwaine exclaims. “That’s like, worse than cereal with spoiled milk.”

“I’ve never had cereal before.”

Gwaine pauses, feet scuffing the dusty concrete of the parking lot. He levels Merlin with a disbelieving look.

Merlin rolls his eyes and continues walking. “I was turned before it was invented.”

Gwaine says, following him. “Fine, I’ll give you that, but I still maintain that you have terrible standards.”

“As is evident by the people I hang around.”

“That’s cold. I’m gonna have to journal about that.”

Merlin lets out a light chuckle, already feeling a bit better. “And I can’t wait to never read it.”

They push past heavy doors and step into the warmth of the main lobby. The room is thankfully empty, although, Merlin can hear movement in the rooms down the hall—the faint rustling of paper, pages being turned, the clacking of keyboards, and a few light snores. He decides not to dwell on it too much, for fear of getting like he was at the town meeting—you know, before Gwaine pulled his not-so-little stunt.

“Ah, Merlin, my boy,” Gaius greets pleasantly, startling Merlin from his thoughts.

Merlin and Gwaine approach him from where he sits at what seems to be the only information desk, on top of which, sits a placard which reads, “Gaius Phillips IV.”

Merlin can’t help but grin. So, they’re not even being subtle about it anymore, are they?

“It’s good to see you here,” Gaius continues. “It’s been a while.”

Merlin scratches the back of his head, feeling uncomfortable. “Yeah, a few decades, probably.”

It’s not like he _meant_ to go so long without showing up. He was just…busy. Doing things.

Gwaine spares an inquisitive look towards Merlin, then forcefully perks up. “Hi, Gaius,” he greets, cheerily.

Gaius shoots him a judging look in return, left eyebrow rising.

“What?” Gwaine asks defensively.

“I heard that you made quite the _event_ out of the last vampire council meeting, young Gwaine,” Gaius says, disappointment coloring his features.

“Oh, you heard about that?” Merlin asks, sheepishly, mostly because Gwaine doesn’t have the decency to look it, himself.

“Only from every vampire passing through here since,” Gaius says, keeping his eyes on Gwaine. “I’ve also received several notices from the weekly ‘email blasts’ I am subscribed to.”

“You’re really tuned into the town gossip, aren’t you?” Gwaine asks.

“Not intentionally, I assure you,” Gaius says. “The emails are supposed to be strictly impartial vampire news.”

“Well, no one can be impartial when it comes to me, so that makes sense,” Gwaine says, shamelessly.

“Yes, it would seem that no one is immune to your antics.”

A pause.

Merlin elbows Gwaine harshly, who hisses. “What?”

“Apologize to Gaius for ruining his email blasts,” Merlin commands.

“No, it’s not my fault that—”

“He’s sorry, Gaius,” Merlin interrupts.

“But I’m not—ow!” Gwaine rubs the spot where Merlin elbowed him again. “You’re so violent.”

Merlin points his elbow threateningly. “Apologize.”

Gwaine looks from the elbow, to Merlin, and then to Gaius. “Sorry,” he says. It’s quiet and mumbled, but sincere.

Gaius’ face softens, the corners of his lips upturning just slightly. “Thank you, Gwaine.” So, it’s not just Merlin who is prone to forgiving Gwaine quickly. Maybe Gaius is right, no one seems to be immune to Gwaine.

Gaius turns to Merlin, matter over with. “Now, you’ll be in need of our basement facilities, won’t you, Merlin?”

“I believe so, Gaius.” Merlin smiles appreciatively. Merlin isn’t entirely sure what the “basement” entails, but he’s just happy to not have to walk towards the rustling, clacking, and snoring of the other rooms.

“I’ll have Gwen assist you there, then. Assuming, of course, you have your library card,” Gaius says, looking at him expectantly.

Merlin pulls his card out of the deep recesses of his wallet. It’s in perfect condition, never used.

Gaius accepts it, eying it carefully, then he turns to type something out onto the computer in front of him. “Excellent. Gwen should be here soon.”

“How do you know?” Gwaine asks.

“He emailed me,” Gwen says, suddenly behind them.

Merlin jumps. “Why do you always insist on sneaking up on me?” he exclaims.

“Because it’s fun and surprisingly easy,” Gwen answers. “In all honestly, Merlin, you aren’t the most vigilant vampire.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says flatly.

Gwaine claps his hands together. “Well, now that Gwen’s here, I have to get going.” He turns to Gwen. "Are you still okay with driving Merlin home?”

“What?” Merlin asks. “Why can’t _you_ take me home?”

“I have to get back to work. I’m technically on break right now…”

“What?” Merlin exclaims.

“Gwen?” Gwaine asks.

“Yeah, sure, no problem. I’m done in like…” She looks at her watch, “five hours?”

Merlin balks, “Gwaine—”

“Awesome! Thanks so much!” Gwaine says, then sprints up the stairs before Merlin can say anything.

Merin huffs. “So, this is my reality, huh?”

Gwen is already making her way to a set of doors to the right of the lobby, but she pats him on the shoulder lightly as she passed. “He means well.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” Merlin says, following. “Bye, Gaius.” He waves on the way.

Merlin gets a single, solitary wave in return while Gaius distractedly looks at his computer, but he thinks that the man’s face may be lighter than it was when Merlin came in.

\---

“So, why the basement?” Merlin asks as they make their way down a steep flight of stairs.

“It used to be for storage, where we used to keep the traditional vampire pieces—you know, the stuff that couldn’t be introduced into the general, human public. Over time, with the internet and all, we’ve found so many works and pieces that we thought to be lost. Making the basement a center for vampires seemed just like a natural part of the expansion,” Gwen answers.

They round the stairs and approach a door with several locks on it. Gwen pulls out a sizeable key ring from her back pocket and gets to work unlocking.

“So, I’m guessing that the upper levels are for humans,” Merlin says. It makes sense. The basement provides a degree of secrecy and protection.

Gwen nods, making quick work of unlocking the doors. She opens it, only to be greeted to another, small flight of stairs and another locked door. She quickly finds the correct key and gets to work. “For any non-vampire species, really. Vampires can go there too, but we have a strict ‘no spilling the secret’ policy.” 

“Does the staff know about vampires?” Merlin asks. Once the door is open, they walk down the separate flight and Gwen pulls out a separate key ring for the next door.

“Some do, some don’t. I think we should tell them, but Gaius and Joffrey are traditionalists. It makes it really difficult to sneak in some artifacts, though. Like the blood fountain we got just last week.” She finishes with the door, then kicks it open dramatically. “By the way, we’re closing next Tuesday to switch to hardwood flooring.”

The dimly lit room is enormous, columns of bookcases running so far ahead that he’s having trouble seeing where they end.

Merlin stands in awe of it. “You weren’t kidding about expanding, huh?” he says, running a hand across a row of neatly lined books in awe. “I didn’t have so much of a clue that all of this stuff was out here when I was turned.”

“Me either,” Gwen says thoughtfully. She shakes her head. “So, the computers are this way. And I’ve already set borrowed the books that you need on your behalf.”

“How did you get my library card?”

“Gaius emailed it to me.”

\---

A few hours later and Merlin is still sitting at the library’s computer, a pile of books cluttering the small space surrounding it. The books confound him—most of them are written in old speak, and even though he spoke it once, there’s no way he’s going to remember how to, now—but the computer confounds him more.

Within this predicament, he suddenly realizes that he’s not really on either side of the spectrum—too attached to old times, or too attached to new ones. Such is the state of a vampire who has lived like a hermit for the last few centuries.

Gwen rounds the corner. “Any luck?”

Merlin lets out a beleaguered sigh. “No, not yet. I mean, I’m fine with the tradition stuff. I have been around since the time most of them started. It’s just the ‘modern’ and ‘human’ aspects of it is what I’m having trouble with. I haven’t been a human for centuries now. I don’t know what they do. And how am I going to get a group of vampires on a vampire birthday to pretend not to do vampire things?” Merlin is almost shouting by the time he finishes.

“Calm down.” Gwen takes a seat next to him. “And just think of it as a normal, regular birthday. Then, just add the vampire bits on top. Like a cake.” Gwen pauses. “Which, write this down, there needs to be cake. An iced cream one is preferable, I’ve heard.”

Merlin writes that down, trying not to feel too embarrassed about doing so.

“Lance and I will help you. I’ve had to plan plenty of his birthday parties, before,” Gwen says.

“Speaking of—” Merlin pauses, not sure if it’s his place to continue.

“Why haven’t I turned him yet?” Gwen asks, reading his mind.

Merlin nods. “You’ve been together for forever.”

“If forever is five years,” Gwen says wryly. She blows out a puff of air, looking slightly uneasy. “I mean, he’s only known about the vampire thing for a year. I don’t want to put too much pressure on him.”

“So, you haven’t spoken to him about it yet?” Merlin asks sympathetically.

“I’m giving him time to bring it up on his own,” Gwen says decisively.

Merlin nods, understanding. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You guys are meant to be together. Like, cosmically speaking.”

Gwen chuckles. “Yeah, you’re right,” Gwen says, nodding decisively. She flashes Merlin a hesitant, but grateful smile. “Also, honestly, I’m fine waiting. I kind of don’t want to turn him until he’s physically older than me, anyways.”

“Why not?” Merlin asks hesitantly. Gwen’s got that devious look in her eye.

“Merlin, you know I like older men—silver foxes and the like.” Gwen says wryly, leaning in, like they’re sharing a secret together.

“I didn’t know that, actually. Now, I’m not quite sure I wanted to.”

“And speaking of romance,” Gwen says.

“That’s a questionable transition.”

“Who’s this guy Lance says you keep asking about?”

Merlin lowers his head to the desk, groaning. “This conversation was supposed to be about your love-life, not mine.” he murmurs to the desk.

“Love-life, eh?” Now, she looks outright devious, which makes Merlin question just how long she’s been planning to spring this conversation on him.

“You know what I mean,” Merlin says, eyeing her suspiciously. “And I only asked about him _once_.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve only seen him _once_ , so asking about him _once_ is like asking about him a million times, coming from you.”

“That’s not true, and I’m not entirely sure it makes sense.”

“My point is,” Gwen says, voice getting soft, “you almost never _like_ someone, and when you do, you definitely don’t talk about it.”

“And I’m not talking about it, now.”

“Merlin,” Gwen says seriously.

“It’s just…awkward. I’m awkward,” Merlin shrugs awkwardly, feeling more vulnerable than he would like to be right now. “And I haven’t had the best track record with humans before, so I don’t think that I’m gonna really pursue anything with him. It’s just a bit of flirting, anyways.”

Humans are dangerous. They’re fragile, and easy to harm. Just look at Gwaine. If it weren’t for Merlin, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

“You need to give yourself more credit. You could have a cosmic partner out there, too. Human or not. You shouldn’t limit yourself because of things that happened in the past.”

“I don’t know, Gwen,” Merlin says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe she’s right, though. Maybe he _has_ been limiting himself. “It’s a nice thought, though—cosmic partners.”

“So, you _do_ like him?” Gwen grins.

Merlin side eyes her. “I’ve seen him twice, now.”

Gwen smiles triumphantly. “And I’m counting that as the second time you’ve spoken about him. We’re two for two, Merlin!” She grabs his arm, lifts it up, and waves it in the air enthusiastically.

All he can do is roll his eyes, again, but he’s smiling this time. It makes for quite a strange facial expression.

\---

Before they leave, Gwen takes Merlin to the basement’s human caller section—a service where humans can make daytime calls on the requesting vampire’s behalf. Most businesses and services aren’t open overnight, so if Merlin is expected to plan this very human party in just under a week, he’s going to need the help of human services.

The thought makes him shudder. He has less than _a week_ to plan this party, and he has almost nothing done. And despite Gwen’s offer and the contact list from Gwaine, he still feels incredibly lost.

He isn’t like the others—the humans _or_ the vampires—he doesn’t put himself out there and he doesn’t make plans. And he hasn’t in a while.

The store was an outlier, though. And he didn’t look for it; it just kind of fell into his lap.

He was already working there because he needed to pay the bills on his apartment—despite what most stories tell you, vampires are not all rich. It’s hard to hold onto your wealth over the years and when adjusting for inflation, unless you were insanely rich and/or owned a lot of valuable property as a human, as a vampire, your financial situation is most likely the same as everyone else’s.

So, when the store’s owner, Mr. Alator, passed away with no living relatives to leave it to, he decided to leave it to Merlin. Something about Merlin being responsible because he was never late, never called out, and did what he was supposed to do for the seven years he worked there—Merlin doesn’t know. He just knew that one day, he got a letter in the mail about claiming his “inheritance.”

And Merlin only did it because he was already taking care of most of Mr. Alator’s duties when the man got sick—doing the books, managing and hiring employees, handling stock and deliveries—he decided to keep it. Plus, he liked Mr. Alator, and he was sad to see him go. So, for some reason, he didn’t want to see the store go, either.

Merlin is sentimental like that. Which, you’d think, would help him plan this party. He’s known Gwaine for a while, therefore, it shouldn’t be that hard.

Except, it is. Because while he does like Gwaine, Merlin isn’t so sure about the man’s extended family.

\---

The next day, Merlin gets up early, at 6:00pm, to call Gwaine’s list of contacts. He’s hoping that the time is too late for anyone to actually answer, but too early for anyone to be asleep. And unfortunately, Gwaine didn’t supply a list of emails that he could contact, not that Merlin would necessarily know how to do that, anyway.

He’s lucky for the first few calls, but then on the fourth, Gwaine’s Aunt Silvia picks up.

“Hello?” She answers and the odd thing is that for all of Gwaine’s complaints about her party antics, right now, she sounds perfectly normal—pleasant, even. She sounds nice. Suffice it to say that it’s not what Merlin was expecting.

“Hi, yes, my name is Merlin,” Merlin says, reading off of the pre-prepared script he wrote for this exact situation, “I’m planning Gwaine’s birthday party this Thursday and you are on his list of invites.”

“He’s having a party and it’s this Thursday? But I haven’t even bought him a present!” Aunt Silvia says, sounding genuinely disappointed in herself.

“I know, it’s pretty last minute. I didn’t know myself until a few days ago.”

“Oh, it’s fine! Gwaine has always been the impulsive type, ever since he was young. He was always running off to God-knows-where. It drove Nancy and Joe crazy. It drove me crazy just hearing about it.” She chuckles and so does Merlin. “So, I’ve learned to not be surprised by any of it.”

“Me, either, at this point,” Merlin says humorously.

“Well you must be a good friend to do this, then.”

Merlin looks down, embarrassed, even though he knows that she can’t see him. “I don’t know about that…”

“No, really. Gwaine’s spontaneity can be interesting and exciting, but it can also be…”

“Annoying, selfish, thoughtless?” Merlin offers, not entirely sure why he’s venting to a total stranger. 

“Somewhere in the middle of all three. But…”

“He means well,” Merlin guesses.

“You got it in one, Merlin,” Aunt Silvia says. “And I truly believe it.”

“Me, too,” Merlin says, quietly.

A pause. Then, Aunt Silvia claps her hands together once. “So, what should I get him? Something he’ll love, something he’ll like, or something he’ll hate?”

Merlin thinks for a bit. “Something somewhere in the middle?”

Aunt Silvia laughs. “I like your style, Merlin. I’ll just get him a pack of socks.”

“Reasonable and necessary.”

“Bye, Merlin.”

“Bye…Aunt Silvia,” Merlin says, not entirely sure what to call her.

He thinks he can hear her cackling as she hangs up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! See you in a week? Hopefully? More like two, though, because I’m on vacation.
> 
> You can find me @arthurandhisswordbros on tumblr


	3. Dumpsters Can Be Exceptional Places to Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by simthemuse (@ninjahijabimuse on tumblr)!

So far, things seem to be going well. Suspiciously so.

Merlin is five days out from the party and with the help of Gwen and the services at the library, he’s  _ surprisingly _ on track—if one can be on track planning a party in under a week. As of yet, most of Gwaine’s human contacts have responded and guaranteed their attendance, and all of the vampire contacts were quick to do the same.

Then, because it was always inevitable, the other shoe drops.

“Fuck!” Merlin shouts, forgetting that he is, in fact, in the computer section of a  _ library _ .

A flurry of people shush him harshly, but Merlin doesn’t notice or care, which really speaks to the situation he’s in. He usually notices everything, and he  _ always _ cares. 

“What the hell, Merlin?” Gwen whispers scornfully, rounding the corner. “It’s quiet hours.”

For a moment, Merlin feels a flicker of shame, but it fizzles out quickly when faced with the tidal wave of anxiety, fear, and embarrassment that’s currently accumulating within his chest. He puts his head in his hands, face to palm, and keeps still, in some strange effort to calm the rising tide.

Gwen must spot the source of this internal natural disaster as to be coming from the email on the screen in front of him. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad,” she attempts to comfort, leaning forward to read it for herself.

_ Merlin Emrys, _

_ While we often do cater Vampire Birthday Parties, we cannot, in good conscience, cater a party which is partially for humans, as it is not conducive with the scope of services we provide within our business. That is to say, we have neither the time, nor resources to do so and honestly, our staff is just not equipped to perform the level of espionage needed to hide said services from said humans, not to mention the hassle it would be should the party be taking place at a human residence, which seems to be the case, based on what we gleaned from your initial email. _

_ To be candid, I am truly wondering if you’ve actually thought this whole thing through. _

_ Anyways, thank you for considering Blood Bath and Beyond LLC _

_ Signed, _

_ Mithian Lewis, Catering Manager of Blood Bath and Beyond LLC _

“Fuck!” Gwen shouts. She also gets shushed.

“What am I going to do? The party is in five days and this is the only vampire catering service I’ve contacted so far,” Merlin whines, now in full on panic mode. “Blood Bath and Beyond is right, what was I thinking?”

“She didn’t have to be so mean about it, though.” Gwen looks like she’s reading the email over again. “Were you really planning on having the party at a _human_ _residence_?” She sounds worried, as though she doesn’t know what Merlin was thinking either.

“No, well…if you consider a human apartment complex a human residence. I mean, that’s where Gwaine lives.” Merlin’s face drops, realizing how bad it sounds only as he says it, now. Really, what did he think was going to happen? They were just going to throw a partial vampire rager in an apartment surrounded on all sides by humans? What if someone called the cops?

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen says, pityingly.

Merlin sends her a wild look, hands still in his hair, just the picture of sanity. “Not helping, Gwen.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Gwen says, rubbing his back soothingly. He settles down a little bit, feeling his body relax slightly. “It’s just…what  _ are _ you going to do?”

“I don’t know. If they won’t cater a party at a human residence with humans, then chances are no one else will, either!” Merlin can feel himself tense up, again.

“Maybe if it’s at a private venue, they’ll reconsider?” Gwen asks offhandedly.

“Maybe. But how would I find a place on such short notice—one that’s vampire friendly, will be okay with us bringing in large quantities of blood, and has a space where we can secretly perform the blood ritual? I mean it’s basically impossible!”

Gwen doesn’t answer, staring off into space blankly.

“Gwen?” Merlin probes after a few seconds of silence. He pokes her arm, which she swats away mechanically. Suddenly, her eyes go wide and with the hand still on Merlin’s back, she starts slapping the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Ow!” he says, leaning away to escape her blows. To compensate, she starts shoving at his shoulder. “Why?”

She looks at him with still wide eyes. “We could have it at Denny’s!” she practically squeals. A woman a few computers down gives her the evil eye with another shush, but Gwen ignores her, optioning instead to sign into the computer in front of her. 

“Denny’s?” Merlin questions, because it’s a questionable choice. Only, when he really starts to think about it, it’s not the  _ most _ questionable choice. No, it actually makes sense.

Think about it: the place is open all night, so naturally it already has a steady supernatural client base. And as a result, humans are more willing to look the other way in terms of mystical sightings and happenings. Because really, who cares if a table of people are toasting dark red drinks, or a bunch of kids are running around on all fours like puppies, or even if a table is floating a few centimeters off of the ground?

It’s  _ Denny’s _ . Crazy shit happens there all the time, right? And really, any human at a Denny’s in the middle of the night is probably either sleep deprived or on something.

“Wait, but what about the blood ritual?” Merlin asks. “Where are we going to have that?”

“They have a private party room in the back. So, if we have the regular party out in the main area, we can hide all the vampire stuff away in there!” Gwen says. “Plus, we can use the room as a place to give the vampires a break from the humans, if they need it.”

Merlin nods. Talking to humans can be exhausting when one is not used to it. They’re just so…lively.

“Wait.” Merlin stops short, eyes narrowing. “You’re saying ‘we’ quite a bit…”

Gwen levels him with a flat look. “Merlin, in what universe would I not help you plan this party?”

“Well—”

“And also, how did you not pick up on the fact that, in this specific universe, I’ve already started?” She punctuates this by gesturing to her computer monitor, which reads:

_ Gwen, _

_ Sounds like a plan stan!!1 _

_ -Denny’s _

“Well, that was easy. And strange,” Merlin says.

“And strangely easy,” Gwen agrees.

He turns to her. “Are you sure, though? Planning a party can be…stressful.”

“And planning it by yourself  _ isn’t _ ?” she asks, incredulously.

“No, but I don’t want to put that burden on you, if I don’t have to,” Merlin says, solemnly. “It’s supposed to be my responsibility, anyways.”

“It doesn’t say anywhere in the vampire law handbook that I can’t help you plan this party, even if I didn’t turn Gwaine,” Gwen argues.

“You know what I mean,” Merlin says.

“I do.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” Gwen says. “Merlin, just because you feel guilty, or, rather,  _ think _ you should feel guilty about something doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve any help.”

Merlin doesn’t think they’re talking about party planning, anymore. He looks down and shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

“You should talk to him about it,” Gwen says, quiet as a mouse.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Merlin says. He doesn’t even want to  _ think _ about it. The problem is, this party just keeps bringing it all back up, over and over again and all he wants to do is forget. He wants to go back to his apartment, crawl under his bed, and never come out, like he’s done for so long now.

“Merlin, you have to talk about it with  _ someone _ —”

“I don’t,” Merlin snaps, loudly. He runs a hand through his hair. “Not right now. I’m not—I’m just really stressed right now. I don’t want to add anything else to it. Just—not right now—”

_ Later.  _ He wants to tell her, but he doesn’t know if he can even promise that.

“Okay,” she responds, a few beats too late. And it’s not her fault, really. Merlin is the one who messed up.  _ He’s _ the reason why he’s in this situation. She doesn’t deserve all of this.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin finally says after a long stretch of silence. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“You definitely shouldn’t have,” a voice calls out. It’s the woman a few computers down.

Merlin then realizes that he just had a very small breakdown in front of this entire section of the library. Actually, more like multiple breakdowns and then one big one at the end, there.

Gwen looks to Merlin, face seemingly stern, but he can tell that she’s trying not to laugh. “I  _ told _ you that it’s quiet hours, Merlin.”

Merlin, though, doesn’t try to hold his laughter in, which then cues Gwen to break. The woman pointedly signs off of her computer, not breaking eye contact with them, as if to say, “People like you are why public libraries are failing across the country.” Of course, this only makes Merlin and Gwen laugh harder, which he knows he should feel bad about, but doesn’t. Normally, he would—it’s just…it was a reprieve that was much needed.

“So, now that Denny’s is on board, we just need to contact Blood Bath and Beyond,” Gwen says, once they’ve calmed down. And yes, Merlin does hear the ‘we’ in there and no, he doesn’t jump to correct it this time.

“Sounds simple enough,” Merlin says.

“And also, we need to contact all of the invitees and tell them about the venue change.”

“Less simple.” Merlin slumps over onto the keyboard in front of him, already exhausted just thinking about it.

Gwen snickers and pats his back. He flinches reflexively, expecting a much heavier hand like earlier. She, unsurprisingly, packs quite the punch. “It won’t be  _ that  _ bad.”

He looks at the clock, then groans.

_ 10:17 _

It  _ will  _ be that bad. It’s still relatively early, but Merlin knows that it’s going to be a long night.

\---

Merlin finally finishes notifying everyone about the venue change at 12 in the afternoon, sitting in the dark of his bedroom, weary eyed, with his window curtains drawn tightly, questioning every decision that has led him to this moment.

It was going pretty well at first, strangely. Getting in contact with Gwaine’s human invitees was easy—it was apparently too late for even Aunt Silvia to pick up, so all Merlin had to do was leave a few messages and his email for any further questions. It felt professional, in a way, like Merlin was making a transaction: quick, simple, and impersonal.

This cannot be said for the interactions with the list of vampire invitees. First off, every invitee he called picked up the phone because, of course, they’re vampires, so they were not only awake, but  _ wide awake. _

He really shouldn’t have been too surprised as to the response, though, considering the reaction at the vampire council meeting. It was kind of like living the night all over again. Who would’ve thought that such a simple change, one which shouldn’t affect anyone except Merlin, could cause such an onslaught of intrusive questions, petty complaints, and mild insulting?

Don’t get him wrong, some questions were harmless—actually helpful, even. A few people asked if there would be games, what the layout was going to be like, what kind of drinks there would be. They were good questions, to be honest, and they actually gave Merlin a few ideas. So, that’s fine.

What wasn’t fine, though, were the aforementioned complaints and insults:

_ Why do there have to be humans at the party, again? Can we eat them? No? Why not?! _

or,

_ Do you hate vampires, or something? Is that why you’re doing this to us? _

And, Merlin’s favorite:

_ What did you do to Gwaine to make him so spiteful towards his own kind? _

Merlin made an executive decision to revoke that last person’s invitation. He doesn’t think that Gwaine will mind. Really, who wants to have someone with that kind of attitude coming to their party? Merlin certainly wouldn’t.

That being said, Merlin  _ is _ going into this party with a bit of an apprehensive disposition, mostly because of all the stress it’s bringing him. And sleep deprivation. Which is why, against his better judgement, he allows himself to sleep in the next day. For a whole extra hour.

He knows, he might as well be a wild animal.

After that, he’s up and getting ready to head over to the library for another session of research, planning, and answering more calls and emails—he’s still getting delayed responses from those who he contacted about the venue change. He needs all hands on deck because even though he has time, there’s still a lot to do.

For one, he still hasn’t officially locked down Blood Bath and Beyond as a caterer because they haven’t responded to his email yet. Second, he hasn’t had any interaction with Denny’s since the other night and he’s not entirely sure what a vampire/human party would even  _ look _ like there, with their private room and everything.

Would they get the whole place to themselves? What kind of food would be served? Is there a set menu or do people just order whatever they’d like? Does Denny’s even have good food? Does it even really matter?

As Merlin continues to have what is probably his twentieth freak out about this whole thing, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

Merlin pulls it out shakily. It’s Gwaine. “What?”

“Woah, what’s with the ‘tude?” Gwaine asks, slightly muffled, as though he’s holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He’s probably driving. Well, that’s irresponsible.

“Sorry, I’m just freaking out about everything,” Merlin explains through gritted teeth.

“About the party?” Gwaine asks.

“No, about my leaky faucet.  _ Yes _ , about the party.”

“Well, about the leaky faucet, I know a guy,” Gwaine says, genuinely. Merlin will probably take him up on it later, when he’s feeling less stubborn and proud. “And as for the party, I’m actually headed to Denny’s right now. I can stop by your house and pick you up if you wanna come with.”

“Why are you headed to Denny’s?” Merlin asks, not able to keep the suspicion from his voice. It’s almost as if Gwaine read his mind. Merlin makes sure to tell him this.

“Because their system is acting a little wonky, so I have to go in and smooth a few things out.”

“Sure,” Merlin says, smiling to himself. “And the night  _ just  _ after we change venues, Denny’s suddenly has technical problems.”

“What are you talking about? Denny’s  _ always _ has technical problems.”

“And tonight, of all nights, you have to check in with them, personally,” Merlin says. “Why don’t you just send one of your cronies?”

“You mean my  _ employees _ ? I seriously hope you’re not calling your employees ‘cronies.’”

“You’re not answering the question,” Merlin says.

“…and I won’t,” Gwaine says, not realizing that he just confirmed Merlin’s suspicion. “Do you want me to pick you up or not?”

Merlin would pretend to mull it over, but they both know that Gwaine is doing him a favor here. While Merlin has been to Denny’s before, it’s been quite a bit of time. And despite the leaps and bounds he’s been making, lately, in terms expanding his horizons and visiting new places, he isn’t necessarily comfortable with the idea of visiting somewhere new, with people that he may not know at all, especially at a rowdy place like Denny’s.

“Yes,” Merlin says exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. “I’m rolling my eyes, just so you know.”

“Are you ever not? Anyways, I’m here.”

“I know,” Merlin says. He would be an idiot to expect anything different, especially from Gwaine. “I’ll be out in five.”

\---

Merlin, as previously mentioned, is not an idiot. Or, rather, he’s deciding to not being an idiot  _ tonight _ , so when he steps out into his apartment complex’s parking lot, he deliberately walks past Gwaine’s car—much to the utter man’s confusion—to get into his own car, motioning for Gwaine to follow along the way.

He does this because, after many tedious studies, observations, and data calculations, he has come to the conclusion that when he gets in Gwaine’s car, he either ends up somewhere he doesn’t want to be, or he winds up stuck somewhere he doesn’t want to be. See: being stuck in a library for five hours as a reference. He would like to avoid that.

It takes a few moments, but Gwaine does eventually follow Merlin, probably out of pure curiosity. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t put up a fight, though.

“You don’t even know where the Denny’s is!” Gwaine shouts, from the other side of Merlin’s windshield.

Merlin ignores him. He’ll banter with Gwaine, but he’ll do it  _ in his own car _ , thank you very much. To his hidden relief, Gwaine slides into the passenger’s seat with a beleaguered sigh, as though Merlin just ruined his whole evening.

Merlin can only hope that he’s ruined the plans the Gwaine has had for him tonight. But when there’s a Gwaine, there’s a way.

“You don’t even know where the Denny’s is,” Gwaine reiterates, with an honest sincerity the likes of which Merlin has only seen in police procedurals where the hard-boiled detective is onto a case and no one believes that he knows who the killer is.

“I have been to Denny’s before, Gwaine. With you, actually,” Merlin says, glancing over quickly to make sure Gwaine has his seatbelt on before pulling out of the parking spot.

“What? When?” Gwaine asks.

“You remember when Joffrey became a notary? We went there to celebrate.”

“Oh, yeah…I made him notarize the lease for the space at the strip mall. He did it, but he told me not to try to take advantage of his ‘newfound powers’ or something,” Gwaine says, rising up in his seat like a scary vampire. “He was scary as shit when he did, too, towering over me in my seat with his scary, ancient vampire gaze, before pulling out his notary stamp like it was a concealed weapon. I almost pissed my fucking pants.”

Merlin laughs at the memory. It was back when Gwaine was still human—when things were so much easier. “He was a bit intimidating. I’ll give you that,” he says, laughing at Gwaine’s impression of Joffrey and trying not to on the memory for too long.

Gwaine slumps back down in his seat with a thump. “I have no idea why he actually agreed to it, though. I thought notaries had a code or something.”

“They do, which is why I had to beg—and I mean  _ beg _ him to do it.”

A pause and Gwaine’s eyes go wide. “No way. You didn’t!”

“Of course, I did!” Merlin says. “Did you think that Joffrey was really going to break ‘the code’ for some bratty kid fresh out of college trying to start a business without a little bribery? I had to pay for the whole meal, and you  _ know _ how much Joffrey likes Denny’s alcoholic A positive. It cost me a small fortune. Or, my fortune, which was already small to begin with.”

“I resent the term ‘bratty,’” Gwaine says. “Also, it’s probably strange that our Denny’s has a liquor license.” 

“They didn’t at the time, which is why it cost so much. I had to pay for the secrecy, too.”

“No shit,” Gwaine says, face in awe. “I had no idea how much you did for me.”

“Yes, you did,” Merlin says with a smile. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep asking me to do stuff.”

“That’s not true,” Gwaine says. “I don’t usually ask.”

Merlin laughs. “You definitely do not.”

\---

Merlin is not surprised to see that Denny’s is packed—it’s the dinner rush and with the acquiring of the aforementioned liquor license, it makes sense that people would flock there. What  _ does _ surprise him, though, is just how many of the patrons are supernatural, and obviously so.

Stepping into the establishment, he can immediately see a few teenagers casting spells on their drinks to make them change color. Off to the side, by the small arcade, a group of werewolf kids are snarling at a game they’re losing, claws out and everything. Hell, even one of the servers just took a small sip from a clear, plastic bottle obviously filled with blood.

“Percy! Percival!” Gwaine calls out to said server, who turns quickly to the source of the sound, breaking out into a smile once he sees it’s Gwaine.

Hmm…

“Gwaine,” Percival greets brightly as he walks over. As he gets closer, the laws of perspective suddenly make themselves known to Merlin, which is to say, that the man is absolutely massive. He’s probably got a good half a foot over Merlin.

He briefly flicks his gaze down to Merlin and then back to Gwaine, questioningly, as if to say, “Who’s this?”

“Percy, this is Merlin. Merlin, Percival,” Gwaine says, gesturing to the both of them.

A spark of recognition lights up Percival’s face. “Oh, you’re  _ Merlin.  _ Gwaine has told me so much about you!” He sticks an enthusiastic hand out to shake, which Merlin takes.

“Hopefully all good things,” Merlin says.

“Mostly good things,” Percival says with a smirk. “He  _ did _ tell me about the state of your rotten blood supply, though. At length.”

Merlin’s eyebrows go up. “At length, huh?” he says, shooting Gwaine a quick, suspicious look, then turns back to Percival. “Well, I’ll take what I can.”

“You should be more grateful,” Gwaine says. “You’re in my top ten group of friends.”

“Oh, I’ve cracked the top ten, then? You’re right, I should be more grateful,” he says sarcastically.

“Careful, Merlin, that attitude is very ‘number eleven’ of you,” Gwaine says cheekily.

Merlin grumbles indignantly. “Well this conversation is very ‘number twenty’ of you.”

“Well that response is very ‘number twenty-one of—'"

“Um…” Percival interrupts, obviously confused as to why Merlin and Gwaine came to a Denny’s to argue about friendship rankings. “Did you need my help…or?”

“Oh, yeah,” Gwaine says, realizing himself. That’s odd—Gwaine almost never realizes himself. “So, we’re having a party here in a few days and Merlin wanted to scope out the place. And I’m also here to take a look at your computers.” He punctuates this by lightly tapping the bulky bag that hangs across his chest.

“Oh, you mean the job we hired you to do about a month ago?” Percival asks.

“The very one,” Gwaine says cheekily. “So, if you could just point me in the direction…”

Percival rolls his eyes, but it’s with a fond smile. It’s funny how no matter who he befriends, Gwaine seems to have this ability to evoke such a strange mix of affection, annoyance, and amusement. Although, Merlin gets the impression that Percival may be more than a friend. As Percival turns to lead the way, Merlin does his best to give Gwaine a look to relay this newfound realization. This is mostly done with intricate eyebrow wagging.

Gwaine flips him off and Merlin smiles. Message received, then.

Percival takes them to what seems to be the employee breakroom. There’s a small, ancient refrigerator hissing loudly in the corner next to a group of chairs, all mismatched and placed around a beatdown, crumb-covered table that looks like it could tip over at any minute. In one of the chairs is a sleeping server, completely slumped over the table, his head tucked into his arms.

Percival dips into a dark closet off to their right, takes out a large box filled with computer equipment—a few small touchscreen monitors, and an assortment of tangled wires—and then dumps it onto the unsteady table, which screeches under the weight. The sleeping server moans indignantly.

“You have to be kidding me,” Gwaine cries, disbelieve coloring his features. “That’s not it, is it?” He races over to the table, then frantically ruffles through the box. “What have you done? You disconnected everything!” he accuses. 

“Yeah…well, it wasn’t working. Why would we use something that doesn’t work?”

“I agree,” Merlin chimes in. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t throw it out.”

“You don’t get to talk, Merlin,” Gwaine snaps. “You know nothing of the crimes committed here today.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and Percival chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at my pain, you heathens!” Gwaine hollers, clutching a monitor to his chest, as though it were a small child in need of protection.

“Anyways, can you fix it or not?” Percival asks.

Gwaine looks offended. “Of course, I can. Why wouldn’t I be able to?” With that, he neatly packs the box’s contents back in and hefts it into his arms. “Now, where are these supposed to go?”

“Out by the main entrance. Here, Lance will show you.” Percival taps on the shoulder of the still sleeping server, who shoots up in his seat, alarmed and confused.

“Lance?” Merlin questions, shocked. “Lancelot?”

Once Lancelot finally gets a hold of his surroundings, he flashes Merlin a sleepy smile. “Hey, Merlin. What’re you doing here?”

“We’re having the party here, now. What are you doing here? Do you work here, now?”

“Yeah, I just started last week,” Lancelot says, letting out a yawn. “Didn’t Gwen tell you?”

“No, she did not.” Merlin huffs. So that’s how she got the idea to have the party here. Merlin stops short. “Wait. Aren’t you working for me tomorrow at the store?”

“Yep,” Lancelot says simply. He stands up, stretching himself out.

“So, how are you going to sleep, then?”

“What do you mean? I  _ just _ did?” Lancelot looks around to a serious of confused faces. “I got my full 45 minutes of sleep for the night. That’s basically all you need.”

“Humans sleep longer than that, right? I’m not sure I remember,” Merlin mumbles to Percival.

“Yeah, I was turned just last year and that’s definitely not right,” Percival mumbles back.

Merlin turns back to Lancelot. “I can give you more shifts if you need the extra money, Lance,” he offers quietly.

“No, no, it’s totally fine. It’s not anything like that,” Lancelot says, shaking his head. He pauses. “Well, the truth is, I’ve been bumped from my badminton team. So, I’m trying to pick up a new hobby.”

“Waiting tables?” Merlin asks.

“No,” Lancelot says, smiling. “I’m a dishwasher. I’m trying to make my way up to chef. You know, like in ‘Ratatouille?’”

Merlin can’t help but smile. “I’m not entirely sure that’s how it works, Lance…”

“Can we get moving? I’m in a volatile state just holding this mess,” Gwaine interrupts, nodding towards the box he’s still holding. He looks wild and uneasy.

Percival stifles a laugh. “Lance?”

“No problem,” Lancelot says, turning to Gwaine. “Right this way.” He ducks out of the room, Gwaine following behind, devices shuffling in the box with every step.

Once they’re clear of the room, it becomes strikingly apparent that Merlin is alone with a veritable stranger—you know, a person he doesn’t  _ know _ .

An awkward pause settles among them.

“So…um,” Percival says. “What were you hoping to scope out?”

“Uh, I guess your party room?” Merlin says.

“Oh yeah, of course! Right this way, then,” Percival says and without another word, they leave the room, passing through the chaos of the main seating area. Merlin thought it was packed before, but the place is practically bursting at this point. Children are running wild everywhere, both human and werewolf alike, and those who are still seated are throwing everything withing their reach.

“So, I guess you guys are able to handle a large number of rowdy people, huh,” Merlin says, almost tripping over a couple of crayons rolling on the floor.

Percival laughs. “You could say that.” He weaves in and out of the madness, dodging a projectile of sugar packets being hurled at his face. Nearby, a table teeters on the edge. Percival catches it mid-air just as it falls, then places it back on the table easily, face passive, as though it’s just another day at work. Perhaps it is.

The party room, thankfully, is very far in the back and relatively hidden. So much so that Merlin imagines that if he were human, he wouldn’t be able to hear the anarchy they just weathered. “Is there soundproofing in here?”

“Yeah, it’s so that people who have parties here can feel like they’ve booked a private venue or something. So, I guess that works for your purposes.”

“It definitely does.”

“Only,” Percival starts, scratching his head. “You mentioned having a large number of attendees, so I’m guessing you’re going to be using the main room. Why do you need to see the private party room?”

“It’s where we’re having the blood ritual. I’m sure that Gwaine told you that he has human attendees, too, so we need a place to hide it from them.”

“The what?” Percival questions. “There’s a blood ritual?”

Merlin’s heart drops—or, it would if he were still human. “Will that be a problem?” he asks wearily.

“No, no, it shouldn’t be a problem. I just…didn’t know about that? Is that like a thing that vampires do?”

Merlin suddenly remembers what Percival said earlier about being turned just last year. “Oh, you haven’t had your vampire birthday, yet, have you? It should be coming up soon, then, right?”

“Oh no, it passed just last month. I just…didn’t have a party.” Percival looks a bit embarrassed and slightly sad, but at Merlin’s confused look, he continues, “I don’t know who turned me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Merlin says, not able to keep the sympathy from his voice.

It’s not uncommon. While there are vampires like Merlin and Gwen who have relatively good control over their vampiric urges around humans, there are many out there who do not. Some, once they are turned, just go mad with the newfound power they are given—the speed, the strength, the heightened senses. They do whatever they like, whenever they like with no regard for vampire law. As an unfortunate result, many new turned vampires are left ‘orphaned,’ without a sire to lead them into their new lives, or lack thereof.

“It’s okay,” Percival says. “Luckily, around that time, I found a support group for newly turned vampires at the local library. That’s actually how I met Gwaine, you know. He only showed up for one session, but he seemed to know more about the whole vampire thing more than the others, so we exchanged information.”

Merlin remembers that time. He and Gwaine didn’t really speak, at first, right after the accident, so it makes sense that Gwaine would reach out to a group like that. Really, it took a whole month for them to even be within each other’s general vicinity.

Gwaine was the one who reached out first, as Merlin was too busy wallowing in his own shame to realize that Gwaine may have needed him, even if he couldn’t forgive him.

So, one day, Gwaine showed up at his apartment with a movie and a pint of O negative and that was that. They were friends again, but it wasn’t like it was before. It still isn’t and Merlin knows deep down that it will never be again. They have come a long way, though, but they still have leaps and bounds to go.

He thinks he still would have liked to have known that Gwaine went to a support group. And he’s not entirely sure why Gwaine didn’t tell him about it, or Percival, rather, in the first place.

“And as for the birthday,” Percival continues, snapping Merlin from his contemplation. “I  _ did _ have a small celebration with some of the vampires who work here.”

“That’s nice,” Merlin offers. He just hopes he doesn’t come across as pitying. He hates when people sound pitying with him.

“Yeah,” Percival says, not looking like he minds, anyways. “I just don’t have a lot of people who can tell me about that stuff—blood rituals and all.”

“Well, I mean…you can always contact me,” Merlin says. “I’m, as Gwaine puts it, ‘ancient.’ I’ll tell you anything you want to know about vampire stuff. I’ll be like a…pseudo-sire, or something.”

Percival’s face breaks into a wide smile at that, eyes glowing. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

They both start heading back, once Merlin takes a second look over the room. It’s actually perfect. It’s large, spacious, and it has hardwood flooring, which is much better for cleaning up spills.

“Seriously, though, Gwaine is lucky to have you,” Percival says quietly, after a few moments. “And not just, like, having a sire in general, but he’s lucky to have  _ you _ as a sire. And a friend.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

“I am. And so is Gwaine. I didn’t want to say it earlier—for all of Gwaine’s lack of self-awareness, he does get embarrassed easily—but he does say good things about you.”

Like always, Merlin doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Thanks, Percival.” He hopes it sounds as sincere as he means it to be.

“Well,” Percival starts, “he mixes the good things in with the bad things.”

“Oh no, like what?”

Percival levels him with a playfully scolding look. “How can you, in this day and age, possibly have a Nokia 3310? Do you even have a conscience?”

Merlin rubs a hand down his face. “Oh my god.”

“I mean, honestly, I almost didn’t accept your offer to contact you because with a phone like that, if I text you, will it even go through?”

“Why does everyone I interact with like making fun of me so much?”

“I might as well send it in the mail. It’ll probably get there faster.”

“I can see why you and Gwaine clicked so easily.”

\---

When Merlin and Percival step back out into the main seating area, the storm of the general seating area has calmed down to light showers. Even though there are still a few rowdy children running around like maniacs, those who were doing the most damage a few moments ago must have tired themselves out, as quite a few are asleep in their parent’s arms or lying across their respective tables. It’s a sweet sight, one that makes Merlin’s cold, dead heart squeeze.

He briefly imagines having a spark of energy like that, one that burns so brightly and intensely that once it’s out, you just drop. He doesn’t think he’s felt like that since  _ he _ was a kid. He’s not entirely sure when exactly it went away. Maybe when he became a vampire. Maybe when he grew up.

Merlin’s attention is suddenly drawn to Gwaine, who’s settled on the floor by the main entrance, detangling wires with unflinching focus and dedication. Merlin chuckles to himself. Maybe that kind of all-consuming energy isn’t just limited to children and humans.

“How’re you doing, pal?” Merlin asks Gwaine as they approach him. “Are you still volatile?”

Gwaine flips him off weakly without looking up, still deeply engrossed in his work. It’s as if he just doesn’t have the physical or mental strength to properly tell Merlin to fuck off.

Merlin lets out a sigh, settling into a nearby booth. Percival sends him a questioning look.

“We’re probably going to be here for a while,” Merlin answers. When Gwaine is this focused on something, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t break, until it’s completely done. Normally, it’s an admirable trait, one which has generally brought him success in life—he has a duel degree in Business and Computer Sciences, several certifications that allow him to do tech support for a large number of shops and restaurants, and his own small business.

Right now, though, it’s just annoying.

“I’ll get you something to drink, then,” Percival says, lightly patting Merlin on the shoulder in sympathy, then pat’s Gwaine on the head, annoyingly. Gwaine swipes his hand away, which causes Percival to grimace. “So disrespectful.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Don’t I know it.”

Percival heads off with a smile. Merlin pulls a packet of crayons and a paper mat out of the hostess’ station nearby, and with a sigh of relief, he gets to work planning the logistics of the blood ritual now that he finally knows what the party room looks like. He spares a look towards Gwaine. For all of the things he drags Merlin into—that which doesn’t often come with any details or explanation—sometimes it does work out for him.

Take tonight for instance—if Merlin hadn’t come along, he may not have known what the layout was until the night of the party. Okay, well, that’s not necessarily true, but he probably wouldn’t have met Percival, nor would he have heard his story. And he definitely wouldn’t have offered his services as a wise, sage-like elder vampire.

Merlin can feel a small, self-satisfied grin settle upon his own face, which immediately washes off once he realizes that he’s dealing with generic crayons instead of name-brand ones. “Gwaine, I think we may have to rethink having the party here. They’re using Rose Art crayons.”

“Merlin, no one will be using the crayons at my birthday party,” Gwaine says absently. “But if you’re worried about it, I’ll make them illegal. As the birthday boy, I have the power to do that.”

“Phew,” Merlin says, relieved, swiping nonexistent sweat from his brow. “That was a close one.”

\---

They only end up staying for about two more hours after Gwaine gets everything set up again. Gwaine tried explaining to Merlin what the problem was, but Merlin didn’t really understand. Either way, it was causing Gwaine quite a lot of frustration and energy. He's all but passed out by the time he’s finished—his eyes are drooping, and he looks like he’s about to tip over any minute now.

Merlin isn’t sure he’s seen a vampire so drained in his life. He’s suddenly very glad that he made of the point of driving here today. They’re both immortal, resilient vampires, so they would be fine, but Merlin doesn’t think that getting into a car accident is how he wants to spend his night. 

After they say their goodbyes and Merlin exchanges information with Percival, they leave the warm atmosphere of the restaurant and stumble out into the parking lot, breaching the cold. Merlin has to physically support Gwaine along the way, even though Gwaine groans and tells him that he doesn’t need any help.

“You worked hard,” Merlin says. “Let me help you.”

“I didn’t do that much,” Gwaine grumbles, but he stops resisting. They approach his car and Merlin rifles for his keys in his pocket, still trying to keep Gwaine upright at the same time. Once he gets the passenger door open, he maneuvers Gwaine into his seat and buckles him in before he makes his way to the other side.

He closes the door, starts up the car and they roll out. It’s then that Merlin abruptly realizes that he doesn’t know, in fact, exactly where Gwaine lives. “Hey, where am I going?”

“Like, spiritually? Because I’m not entirely sure where our kind goes. Do all vampires go to heaven?”

“No, like, where is your apartment. I have no idea where you live.”

Gwaine actually starts to perk up at that. Where he was previously sprawled across his seat, he’s now sitting upright, with a newfound clarity to his voice. “You don’t know where I live? You’re a terrible vampire sire.”

“I literally  _ just _ buckled you in,” Merlin says. “I’m a great vampire sire. Now, where is your apartment?”

Gwaine groans. “Can’t I just stay at your place? We can have a sleepover—gossip, read Cosmo,  _ drink _ Cosmos, talk about boys—”

“Yeah, we can talk about Percival,” Merlin singsongs, side-eying him. “Oh, wait, I mean ‘Percy.’”

“Uh…”

“And you can tell me what  _ that _ ’s all about.”

Gwaine pauses for a few beats to long. “You know what, I don’t have to sleep over. Really, you can just drop me off somewhere around here.”

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Merlin says with a wide grin. 

“Oh look! There’s a dumpster over there. I think I’ll just sleep there tonight. They usually come with lids, right?”

“Gwaine—”

“That makes them kinda like really big coffins. So, I won’t have to worry about the sun when coming up! I’ll be  _ literally _ covered.”

“In trash,” Merlin laughs.

Gwaine smiles, reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ll have plenty of racoons to keep me company. I’m pretty sure vampires can’t catch rabies.” Gwaine pauses, smile dropping from his face. “Can they?” he whispers, more to himself probably.

“I can’t believe you’re college educated,” he says, but he doesn’t stop, for sudden and intense fear that Gwaine will actually follow suit and sleep in a large garbage container all day. He reluctantly turns on the nearest road that he knows will lead to his apartment. “And I’m not dropping you over there. Stop dodging the question.”

“Fine,” Gwaine says. Then, a mischievous smile pops on his face. “Only if you tell me about your little customer crush.”

Now it’s Merlin’s turn to pause. “You know what, maybe you’re right. There’s probably a dumpster around her. Or, how about a nice sewer grate you can slip under?”

“No, no. I think  _ you’re _ right. We should continue this line of conversation,” Gwaine says with a wicked smile. “I hear he’s cute.”

“Who told you that?”

“Gwen,” Gwaine says, self-satisfied. “And Lance a little bit, back at Denny’s.”

“I never told either of them that he was cute,” Merlin says. “In any express terms, at least.”

“I can read between the lines, Merlin,” Gwaine says. “Merlin’s hermit status plus sudden crush must equal someone who is…highly conventionally attractive.”

“Yes, Gwaine. You truly are a master detective,” Merlin says. “You have successfully deduced that I would find someone who’s cute, cute. Brilliant analysis.”

“Thank you very much,” Gwaine says. “I pride myself on my work ethic, especially when it comes to annoying my friends.”

Merlin pauses dramatically. “Oh my god. It’s self-aware now. It…has…consciousness. What will we ever do?” Merlin says, pulling a horrified face.

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “Ha, ha,” he says dryly, but he cracks a smile. “Now, dish. I wanna hear all about this guy. Are his eyes dreamy?”

Yes, they are dreamy. Will Merlin tell Gwaine that? Never.

He does tell Gwaine about Arthur, though. He tells him about the sandwich and the chips and how he makes him laugh. It’s…nice, oddly enough. They have a nice ride back to Merlin apartment.

\---

Merlin didn’t really think about what the sleeping situation would be when he decided to let Gwaine sleep over. “Well, you could sleep in the tub,” he says, only half joking.

Gwaine sends him a dirty look. “No, I’ll just sleep on the bed. You know, like an actual person does.”

“But,” Merlin starts, confused, “you’re a vampire?”

Vampires  _ always _ sleep in dark, secure places. It’s a natural instinct that ensures a vampire’s safety. That’s why coffins are always the go-to; they’re dark, comfortable, and back in the day, people were less likely to open one because, you know, dead people.

Merlin thought that Gwaine would know that, given the jokes he just made in the car. “Wait. Do you sleep like that at home?” he asks.

“Well, yeah,” Gwaine says. “I just use really thick blankets to cover myself.”

Merlin balks. “And that works?”

“Pretty much,” Gwaine says, chest puffing up. He’s defensive. “Now, where’s your linen closet?” He asks but storms off down the hallway before Merlin can respond. A few moments later, he returns with a packaged, unopened comforter set.

As he sets it down to open it, Merlin snatches it away. “No, you’re sleeping under the bed.”

“But where will you sleep?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll sleep on top of the bed. With the big-ass comforter,” he grits out. 

“Are you sure?” Gwaine asks.

“Absolutely,” Merlin says through clenched teeth.

Gwaine must take Merlin at his word because he doesn’t question any further, quickly slipping comfortably under the bed. All the while, Merlin busies himself making the bed. Once he’s done, he turns out the light and readies himself for a sleepless night.

With the lack of sleep from last night paired with the little he knows he’s getting tonight, Merlin is slightly worried that he may not get a full night’s sleep ever again.

“Merlin,” Gwaine speaks up after a few moments. “It’s actually, like, really nice down here.”

Merlin can’t help but chuckle. “I know,” he singsongs.

“Is this how vampires are supposed to be sleeping?” Gwaine asks.

“Pretty much,” Merlin answers.

“I didn’t know that,” Gwaine says quietly. The statement, in any other context would perhaps sound bitter, but Gwaine’s tone is gentle, vulnerable.

And it suddenly strikes Merlin that if Gwaine doesn’t know something as simple as why vampires sleep in coffins, then he probably doesn’t know much about their kind. As his sire, it’s Merlin’s job to do that—to teach him vampire culture and history, to be his mentor—but he’s failed at that, too. It’s almost like Gwaine is an orphan, just like Percival.

Maybe that’s why the two became friends—because they both have absent mentors.

Merlin wants to make him the same offer he made Percival. He wants to show him every bit of vampire law, culture, history that he can. He wants to show him his heritage and why there  _ are _ reasons to be proud to be a vampire, but Merlin isn’t quite sure he believes it, himself. Besides, what if it’s too late?

What if their friendship is so fractured that Merlin’s already lost his chance to make things right? He thought that maybe by planning this party, he could make up for it all, but what if he can’t?

“I can hear you stewing up there,” Gwaine says. “What’s going on?”

Merlin wonders if this is a good time to get it all out, just like Gwen said, to talk about it—that  _ night,  _ and everything after. He doesn’t think he’s brave enough to do that, yet, or even articulate enough to explain just how he feels without turning into a blubbering mess.

“Nothing,” Merlin says.

Always nothing. 

After a few beats of silence, Gwaine says, “C’mon, this is supposed to be a sleepover! We’re supposed to be having late-night chats about what we’re gonna wear to prom and who got who pregnant or something. And then at midnight—or noon, rather—I have to wake you up and be like, ‘It’s tomorrow already.’”

“Is this before or after the pillow fight?” Merlin asks, trying to make his voice sound bright. It’s a fruitless attempt. They’re completely in the dark, but Gwaine will know. He always knows.

“Before the pillow fight, after the fort,” Gwaine continues, anyways. “Unfortunately, though, the fort becomes a casualty of the pillow war.”

Merlin  _ can _ feel himself smiling at that, a little. “I should have dropped you off at the dumpster,” he says, then, after a few moments. “Goodnight Gwaine.”

“Goodnight Merlin,” Gwaine says. “And goodnight moon.”

Merlin peaks his head out from under his blanket, gaze drawn to the window. He has his blackout curtains drawn, but he can  _ see _ the moon—he can feel it—still shining full and bright from where it hangs in the sky. He watches it for a while, far past the initial sounds of snoring coming from underneath the bed.

“Goodnight Moon,” Merlin finally says, then he tucks his head back under his blanket. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait and as always, thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr (@arthurandhisswordbros)!


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